I'm just sayin...

Random thoughts on flight 1700 to Denver.

It strikes me as comical how in the terminal the airlines instruct their personnel to use the phrase "on-time departure" in almost every sentence. As if they really are. But like savvy marketeers or veteran political handlers, they know that just by saying it plants the seed in the, shall we say, more fertile, minds. So you hear absolute crap like this, "this is the final boarding call for (enter airline and flight number) with an ON-TIME departure to (enter destination) please have your boarding pass ready and board from gate number B-15 at this time for an ON-TIME departure, again, last call for United flight 232 to Newark, boarding at gate B-15 for an ON-TIME departure." They sometimes get so revved they rival the talk speed of those AM radio commercial disclaimer fast talkers that you can't understand anything but the emphasis on the ON-TIME departure, which is, of course, the whole idea. I heard this blatant propaganda almost ten times while waiting to board today. I guess there is a plus/minus window as our ON-TIME departure was only 25 minutes after the scheduled time. Close.

Finally had a diagnosis on my aching back yesterday at Virginia Mason. After two years of self therapy, additional stretching, yoga, pilates, PT, Chiropractic, ibuprofen dosing, and red wine supplements, the team at VM, I think nailed it. It's a muscle thing. Meeting point of several groups, including both the major and minor gluteus, iliopsosas, and a few important nerves all converging at the L5. Throw in a touch of arthritis, excess biking and running, sitting on planes for 15 hours at a stretch, all my computer work, and you have a recipe for pain. Cathy the PT and Julie the MD, came as close as anyone to fingering what I was feeling. After a lengthy consultation and testing period we went right into diagnosis and treatment. Immediate isometric stretching and range of motion exercises helped almost immediately and I was walking more as a homo-sapien than a primate on the way to the parking lot. No more knuckles dragging on the pavement! Booked another appointment for two weeks and forgot all about the exercises that I am supposed to do in the interim. But i will get to them upon my return Monday. That is a promise!

I fund it humorous how fast I can segue into a bad attitude these days. As hard as I try not to. After hitting the studio running this morning at 0400 to finish the download of Vineman and set the render protocols while in Colorado, I somehow jumped from feeling groovy to feeling bad to the bone (with apologies to Paul and George). By the time that I dropped off RG (who had gregariously loaned me his PT Cruiser because the Exploder has a kaput water pump and we dropped it at the shop on the way in), I was ordering a French Slam at the packed Dennys, I was singing the b-b-b-b-blues. The valet at Master Park them had the audacity to ask me to pull the Cruiser up two feet after I had already parked. Looking around at the otherwise empty lot I asked 'why', and he muttered something about getting more cars in, and then said, 'never-mind', which I already already done. And the attitude was on it's evil way. Sorry Carlos, no need to drag you into this mess. And then the lines. Jesus Left Chicago. Half hour in those insipid double back lines waiting to check bags (I have condensed all the gear to one bag), only to go to the TSA line and stand there for another half hour waiting for the wonderful, cheerful and efficient TSA folks to pretend that they are somehow integral to the actual operation of the airline industry. Help. I need somebody, help, not just anybody. They now have the guile to separate the lines into two, one is for 'casual' travelers, the other for 'expert' travelers. No one that I have inquired with is quite sure exactly what qualifies the casual to the expert, but I go to the expert line because, well, because by this time I have a serious issue with authority and all I can hear in the raging bit torrent of my mind is Mick belting out Street Fighting Man and Uncle Neil warning about four dead in O-HI-O. We've been in the air almost two hours now and after a cup of industrial strength coffee (and a bag of peanuts) I am feeling better. Thank you Jesus, thank you Lord. And thank the girl with the far away eyes for the on-time departure.

Open letter to the wait staff of the world. I suppose it is a small gesture, me coming into your restaurant and ordering something to eat. I mean, I could have gone across the street to the Taco Time, down the street to the Olive Garden, up the street to the Applebees or even to the greasy spoon 24 hour joint on the corner, but i choose, your place. And I ordered a Caesar Salad. Yes I am a vegetarian, but in this case I don't care if you put anchovies on it or not, or if you pan fry the parmesan cheese into a cute little square that resembles a miniature fly swatter, but what I do care about is FRESH CRUSHED BLACK PEPPER. You gotta be there, with a pepper mill (the bigger the better) and twist that thing for a solid twenty seconds before looking up and asking me to 'say when'. I will, don't worry. and it won't be soon. So please, if you want 15% of the total, please do this before I pick up my salad fork. Thank you.

I was informed yesterday at CT HQ that we have already recouped half of the cost of the RCV project with the first five releases. And we have 25 more ready to go. Ford, GM and Chrysler should have such luck.

Watched 'The Italian Job" again the other night. Good, fun, action. Charleze can play in my sand box anytime. A couple of issues with the script. After the heist in Venice the gang is making it's escape in Switzerland. There is snow on the mountains, ice on the road and the lake is frozen. A double cross takes place on a bridge with the escape van going into the frozen lake. Ed (bad guy) Norton is firing an AK-47 at the submerged good guys as they share an oxygen mask. IN THE FROZEN WATER. They stay down there for a long, long time waiting for Ed to decide that they are dead or he runs out of ammo, whichever comes first. Cut to the crew on shore with Mark Wahlberg cradling a deceased Donald Southerland in a very beautiful and touching scene. Only one problem: It is cold as hell and they should be freezing or all dead from hypothermia. They could have worked around this simply by having Mos Def say something like, "OK, we have paid our respects, now let's get the freezing hell out of here." But they don't. Just a fade to black and we're now faced with a serious credibility issue. Dudes, I mean, really. But then again, And I'm just sayin.....